


Missing Days

by whyyouacknsocraycray



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Chapter 3: Clemens Point (Red Dead Redemption 2), Dutch Cares AU, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Worried Dutch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24298702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyyouacknsocraycray/pseuds/whyyouacknsocraycray
Summary: AU for the Chapter 3 mission Blessed are the Peacemakers (spoilers)After the meeting with Colm, Dutch goes looking for Arthur.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	Missing Days

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to do a Blessed are the Peacemakers fic for a while, like all fans of Hurt/comfort. And I absolutely hate that when you get back to camp, Dutch is just sitting there with no idea what happened! So, I'm adding to the Dutch Cares AU.
> 
> The only thing I'm not super satisfied about with this fic is the timing of everything, especially since video games have unrealistic travel abilities and its very hard to see the passage of time from Arthur's perspective in the mission. I did my best, so hopefully you guys enjoy it.

The meeting with Colm had been… odd. Surprisingly, no guns had been drawn. And yet, Dutch thought, it didn't seem like peace, either. He apologized for killing Colm's brother, however strained that apology may have been and despite the fact that the bastard deserved everything he got. Of course, O'Driscoll wouldn't reciprocate, choosing instead to sneer and then talk circles about nothing for what felt like hours. At least Arthur didn't have to listen to Colm's simple, uninspired blathering!

"Well, that could have gone a lot worse!" Micah said once they lost sight of the exiting O'Driscoll party.

"I do not doubt any peace with the O'Driscolls will not last long, but it was worth trying. Thank you, son," Dutch replied, keeping The Count at a steady trot down the road.

"A real shame, though. I was looking forward to shooting some O'Driscolls!"

They reached the fork in the road and Dutch automatically pulled The Count to a stop. Baylock continued to trot past until Micah looked back, seemingly confused. "Dutch?" he asked.

"This is where Arthur wanted to meet."

"Oh, right."

"I'm surprised he isn't here already."

"He's probably watching to make sure those bastards leave and don't try to jump us. He'll be here soon," said Micah.

It wouldn't surprise Dutch at all for Arthur to be thorough in his protection. He trusted his son to have his back, especially for something as important as this. Arthur, after all, had been there when Annabelle died.

But the minutes ticked past, and still Arthur didn't show. Dutch was starting to get nervous, and The Count stamped his hooves with his own restlessness. He checked his pocket watch again, glancing over at Micah. The other man was slumped forward in the saddle, looking completely undisturbed by their missing counterpart.

"He should be here by now!" Dutch said.

"Maybe he spotted trouble? Decided to follow the O'Driscolls out? You know Arthur, always wandering about."

"No, he specifically wanted to meet here! This was _his_ plan!"

"I'll ride up there, see what's taking him so long," Micah offered, turning Baylock up the hill.

Dutch shook his head. "No, we'll both go. Something is wrong. No one should go alone."

As the pair rode up the hill, the tempo of Dutch's heart increased exponentially. They crested the hill, with Micah saying, "This is where I would have picked." But they were greeted by only rocks, grass, and the screeching of a vulture as it took off from an animal carcass. Pulling binoculars from his saddlebags, Dutch quickly scanned the fields for any sign of Arthur.

"Where did he go?" he asked, half to Micah and half simply to himself.

"Don't know, boss. Back to camp?"

"No, he wouldn't."

"We should still check there. You never know, Morgan seems to do what he wants these days," Micah continued, but Dutch ignored him. If only he was better at tracking, then he could figure out where Arthur had gone! Fortunately, there was someone at camp who could.

"You're right. Let's head back to camp and see if Arthur is there. If not, I'll need Mr. Smith to help track him."

Micah huffed, muttering something Dutch couldn't hear. No matter though, since Micah followed behind when Dutch spurred his horse forward. He kept the pace faster than he normally would, grateful for his Arabian's stamina. But each step strengthened the panic settling in Dutch's chest, worried that Arthur wouldn't be there when he arrived.

They burst through the trees, and Dutch's eyes scanned the fields for Arthur's large dappled grey mare. She was absent. The man himself was also nowhere to be seen, but Hosea walked towards him with a wave.

"Glad to see you returned in one piece!" Hosea chuckled. "Arthur on his way back?"

Dutch's stomach turned. "He's not here?"

"No, Dutch- what?" Hosea began, shifting out of the way when Dutch moved to push past him.

"Mr. Smith!" he called out to the camp, and Charles quickly appeared. "I need your help with tracking.

"Dutch, what happened at the meeting?" Hosea asked, suddenly very concerned.

"Everything seemed fine, not even a shot fired! But Arthur didn't show up after!"

With a gasp, Hosea moved towards his own tent, grabbing a satchel. "I'll come with you!"

"No, you should stay here. Arthur may still come back. And besides, I don't want to risk anyone else. I need Charles to track him, but no one else." Hosea still hesitated in putting down his bag. "Please," Dutch said, and finally Hosea relented.

Dutch turned to the crowd that had gathered in the few minutes. "Mr. Smith and I are going to look for Arthur! Everyone is to stay here. Post extra guards. Hopefully we won't need it." Everyone was watching. He could see the concern building on John's face and how pale Abigail's had become. Bill frowned, Pearson looked guilty. Lenny and Javier were stopped halfway through packing up their things to join Dutch.

Next to him, Hosea quietly said, "Please, just bring him back."

The Count tossed his head when Dutch turned the horse away from camp for the second time that day. Despite the minor protest, he still leapt forward to the speed Dutch demanded. Charles and Taima followed right behind. But the sun was setting quickly, and with it their chance to see where Arthur had gone. They spent too much time waiting, Dutch thought. He should have realized something was wrong much sooner.

The last light of the day made the cliffside barely visible when Dutch and Charles finally arrived. Charles hopped off Taima and used a lantern to inspect the ground.

"This is where Arthur supposed to watch from?"

"Yes, why?"

"One horse came up the same way we did, another followed the ridge. And two horses leave the same way," Charles explained, pointing along a trail that Dutch himself couldn't discern.

They had seen four O'Driscolls on the road, but only Colm and two others at the meeting.

Before he could ask the many questions swirling in his mind, Charles moved to look more closely at the dirt. "Something large was dragged along here."

"Arthur?" Dutch gasped.

"Most likely," Charles said grimly. He walked a few more meters down the trail, ensuring that the two horse tracks stayed together, before gesturing to Dutch to follow. Together, they rode along the ridge before dropping down into the valley, a trail that was perfectly blocked from where Dutch and Micah had waited for Arthur to return. But the fading light and lantern-cast shadows made the tracking difficult, and they slowed as soon as the tracks met up with the road. Sighing, Charles said, "We should camp for the night."

"Mr. Smith-"

"We can continue at dawn."

"Mr. Smith! I am not going to leave Arthur in the hands of those O'Driscolls! If we wait, then…" He didn't want to say it. Saying it would somehow make it happen.

He had been too late to save Annabelle.

Charles spoke gently, understanding Dutch's fear. "Following this trail will be slow in the dark, and the horses are tired." The Count's head drooped lower, as if hearing Charles' words. "I'm worried that I will lose the trail or follow the wrong one. It will be better in the morning.

Reluctantly, Dutch slid off his horse and found a good spot for his bedroll. Charles disappeared into the trees to collect firewood, and Dutch felt a pang of nostalgia when he realized how close they were to their old camp at Horseshoe Overlook. Things seemed simpler, then. Fresh off the mountain, a renewed sense of hope. How did it go so wrong?

Charles offered the take the first watch, knowing how tired Dutch was from the day's events, but hours passed before Dutch could bring himself to sleep. His thoughts raced, filled with the sneer on Colm O'Driscoll's face when he asked if their fighting was over, the stillness of Annabelle's face when they finally found her, and Arthur's face replacing hers. He tried to avoid meeting Charles' knowing eyes after an entire night of tossing and turning, silently realizing upon seeing the rising sun that Charles never woke him to take over watch.

Despite the light of day, Dutch still worried they were moving too slowly. Charles kept an eye on the ground, occasionally stopping to get off his horse when the tracks required more than just a glance. "More joined them here," he said. Colm and his two lackeys, most likely. The group of horses seemed to have skirted around Valentine and continued towards West Elizabeth. Anxiety continued to build within Dutch when Charles jumped off Taima yet again, taking an even longer look at the seemingly straightforward path.

"What is it?" Dutch finally asked.

"Four horses break off here." Charles tugged Taima off the road and hitched her to a tree before continuing down the hill on foot. Nestled in the trees sat the remnants of a campfire and a few empty liquor bottles. Footprints crisscrossed between the fallen logs. Charles continued his search as Dutch stared blankly out over the valley. He could see out to Caliban's Seat and the bend in the Dakota. The O'Driscolls had stopped here, most likely the day before, drinking and celebrating the capture of his son. He wanted to kill them all.

"They didn't spend the night," Charles said. "They probably were just resting their horses before continuing on." Suddenly Charles crouched over a spot a little way off from the campfire, following yet another marker and indication Dutch couldn't identify. "Mr. Van der Linde!" he said sharply, and Dutch ran over to him. His stomach plummeted, a cold sweat breaking out at the sight of the dried, dark red stain on the grass.

"It can't be Arthur's," Dutch said, breathing turning to shallow gasps. "He must have escaped. It belongs to someone else!"

"If Arthur escaped, there would be bodies, not just blood," Charles said carefully. Dutch swallowed, looking around the abandoned campsite.

"We need to keep moving."

Charles quickly located the tracks from where the horses returned to the road, which followed the same path as the horses that had split off from the group. While Dutch wasn't an expert tracker, his eyes caught the occasional drops of blood in the dirt. The sun was setting again, however, and soon after they crossed the Dakota River, Charles began to have difficulty following the trail. Dutch tried not to be impatient, but he couldn't help the growing fear that that they were already too late.

"There is another split here," he said. "Some horses continue along the main road towards Blackwater, the others follow the river southeast towards the bridge. But I…" Charles frowned, swinging his lantern over the area. The moon had long since risen high in the sky, but it wasn't nearly enough to illuminate the tracks. "There's been too much activity here. I don't know which way they went."

"Mr. Smith, you have to do better than that!" Dutch said.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Van der Linde," Charles.

"This is no time for apologies!" Dutch shouted, clenching his fists around the reins. "Arthur is my brother, he is my son, and he is out there right now! He may be hurt. He may be…" Dead. Dutch still refused to say it out loud, but ever since Arthur went missing the horrible thought had planted itself in his mind. It grew larger at the sight of the blood, Arthur's blood, in the grass. It crushed him now, not knowing where Arthur may have gone.

They hadn't noticed Annabelle was missing at first. She liked going to town alone when shopping, despite Bessie or Susan offering to go with her. She took long walks through the fields and forests, often stopping to admire the birds or an interesting plant. Dutch himself asked her if she wanted company that day, and she laughed. Said, "A girl needs some time to herself once in a while!" But she didn't come back that night. When Hosea, Arthur, and Dutch rode into town, no one had seen her. Instead, they were greeted with the laughing face of some O'Driscoll lackey who them where to start looking before Dutch painted the outside of the saloon with his blood. The three of them rode hard through the night, only to find an empty camp and a body.

Dutch didn't remember rightly what happened after that. He knew from Hosea that they buried Annabelle, and Dutch spent the next few weeks hunting down every O'Driscoll he could find to get information on Colm. Squeezing his eyes shut, Dutch could recall blurry images and fragments of memory, almost like he was watching it occur rather than participating. And now Colm was repeating his greatest mistake, and Dutch was determined to make him pay for it this time.

Breathing in deeply, Dutch tried to take control of his thoughts and actions. Thinking about Annabelle's death was bringing tears back into his eyes. Charles, for his part, kept his eyes off Dutch for the moment, choosing instead to rummage around in his saddle bag. Finally, Dutch was able to say, "I can't stop until I find him, Mr. Smith."

Charles nodded, extracting a map from his bag and opening it. "Would Colm go near Blackwater?" he asked.

Dutch considered it for a moment, and his voice shook while he spoke. "He knows I can't be seen there. The O'Driscolls are wanted in as many places as we are, but the bounty hunters aren't looking for them specifically. I suppose it depends on whether Colm took Arthur to set a trap, or just to hurt me. Either way, I wouldn't put it past him."

"Perhaps we should continue that way, then."

They rode down the trail in silence. Dutch considering pushing the pace again, since it would be easier the sneak across the river into Blackwater under the cover of night, when he spotted two bobbing lanterns heading towards them on the road and heard the distinct Irish accent from their conversation.

"Mr. Smith," he whispered, quickly guiding his horse into a bush. Charles did the same, extinguishing his own lantern.

"We should head back, its gettin' fuckin' late," one of the O'Driscolls said, turning his horse down the trail towards the lake. "Let someone else ride around an' keep watch."

"Why isn't Colm at camp?"

"Think he went to talk to the law again. They was getting' impatient, kept expecting him to show up today with the lot of 'em. Colm'll probably just let them take Morgan, if he's still alive."

The other O'Driscoll gave a quiet reply that Dutch couldn't hear, but laughter that followed had him clenching his fists. He had half a mind to just shoot the two boys now. They didn't seem to be in a hurry, keeping the horses at a casual walk. Charles and Dutch glanced at one another before hopping down from Taima.

"We should follow on foot. The Count stands out too much. We don't want them to know we are coming. Their camp can't be too far."

"Alright," Dutch said, checking to make sure both revolvers were loaded. They crept through the bushes until they saw an old homestead, nothing more than a house, a shed, and a rotting fence. Ahead, the O'Driscolls continued to laugh and joke, unaware of Charles drawing back his bowstring.

"What the hell?" one said in the second before the arrow struck his back.

"Shit-" was all the other managed to get out before another arrow sent him tumbling off his own horse. Dutch and Charles sprinted forward, scanning the area for more enemies. It took Dutch a few moments of looking for movement before realizing there were more bodies around the house.

"Charles," he said slowly, approaching the first corpse. He could see the duster coat and splash of green around the boy's neck. Charles pulled a small throwing knife from the corpse, briefly examining it, before moving on. The next body had also been killed by stealth, except this one's neck was broken. Dutch continued to glance around, saw a group of horses shifting nervously by the hitching post and an open cellar door. He moved towards the cellar as Charles inspected the shed, lighting his lantern and squinting into the room. "Arthur?" he whispered, not trusting his voice to be steady at any louder volume. His lantern illuminated the feet of yet another body, and his heart hammered in his chest.

Clambering down the stairs, Dutch flipped the corpse over on its back and took in the face. All the air left his lungs and he collapsed to his knees at the relief that it was just another O'Driscoll. It was short lived, however, as his eyes adjusted and took in the whole basement.

A pool of blood rested in the dirt, in line with the open, rusted shackles on the ceiling. A burnt-out candle sat on the table next to a bloodied file and an open shotgun shell. And then there was the smell, not from the O'Driscoll that couldn't have been dead for more than a few hours, but a lingering smell of sickness that permeated the room. Images of Arthur, strung up and bleeding, tortured and dying, flashed before his eyes one after another. He flinched when a hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to see Charles' concerned face meeting his own, lips moving to form words that couldn't reach his ringing ears. His eyes drifted down towards the object in Charles' hands, a dark, dusty leather hat.

"He was here," Dutch muttered, trying to get a grip on his own breathing. Charles' eyes widened as he took in the details of the basement.

"Arthur must have escaped, and not long ago either. He probably has a few hours head start on us, at the most!"

"No," Dutch shook his head, "What if you are wrong?"

"Dutch?"

"Colm… those O'Driscoll boys said Colm was talking to the law… what if?" Dutch gasped. "What if they took him?"

"The law wouldn't have killed O'Driscolls like that."

"Then Arthur is out there alone! He's hurt, he could be dying." Dutch knew he should get up off the ground and search for Arthur, but he discovered that he couldn't move. This basement in this old, broken down homestead was supposed to be the end, the place where he would get revenge on everyone who hurt Arthur before pulling his son into his arms and telling him that he was safe. Arthur was supposed to be safe, should have been safe from the very beginning. But Dutch had failed Arthur, was still failing him now.

The tears that had been threatening to spill from his eyes since Arthur disappeared began to fall. He wiped the treacherous liquid away furiously, but it was replaced all too quickly. A hand fell on his shoulder. Charles sat with Dutch, just waiting for Dutch's panic to end. "Arthur will find his way back. He always does."

It felt like hours had passed, but in reality, it was only a few minutes. In a short moment of vanity, Dutch wondered how he must look to Charles: disheveled hair and clothes, red and watery eyes. He didn't feel like the proud leader of their gang turned family, and he hated that someone else was here to witness it. But the moment passed. Dutch picked himself off the ground and walked up the basement stairs. "We should leave quickly, there may be more O'Driscolls about," he said, sliding the mask back over his emotions. They crept back across the field, keeping an eye out for more lanterns. They found Taima and The Count exactly where they had left them.

They were forced to keep the horses at a walk for most of the ride back. Taima hung her head low, and even The Count seemed exhausted. Dutch was certain he had bags under his eyes. Charles did. The sun began to rise in the sky as they crossed into Lemoyne, and they still had not met Arthur on the road. Charles noted earlier, about an hour after they crossed the Dakota, that a lone horse travelled the same path recently. He didn't confirm it, but Dutch knew Charles hoped that the horse was Arthur's, a hope that Dutch was still having difficulty sharing.

If Arthur wasn't at camp, what would he say to Hosea? To any of them?

His worries were at their peak as they turned down the wooded path to Clemens Point. He heard the click of a rifle, and John's demand of "Who goes there?"

"It's us," Dutch replied, weary and slurring the words together. But he was surprised when John's tense shoulders immediately dropped and the angry expression relaxed into one of pure relief.

"You're back!" John said. Dutch opened his mouth to question John, but John beat him to it. "Arthur's came back a few hours ago, kept saying you were walking into a trap!"

Dutch urged his horse through the trees, leaving Charles to answer whatever questions John may have. The camp was silent. Arthur's horse was laying in the grass with Kieran gently brushing her. Dutch gave The Count a few pats, promising himself that he would properly reward his horse for his hard work. Heads around camp turned to watch him as he walked towards Arthur's tent and slipped inside.

"Oh, thank God!" Hosea said, and he stood from his chair next to Arthur's cot to pull the younger man into a hug. But Dutch froze at the sight of his son. Arthur's face was flushed and sweaty, yet he was shivering. Purple bruises had formed on his cheek and eyes. His lungs shuddered with each drawn breath, and heavy bandages around his left shoulder peaked out from beneath the blankets. Hosea, sensing Dutch's shock, guided him to the chair.

"He's been in and out, keeps asking for you, Dutch," Hosea said. Catching Dutch's focus on the bandages, he continued, "Gunshot wound. Someone dug out the bullet and, well, cauterized it." Dutch reached for Arthur, suddenly hesitant. He needed the physical contact to reassure himself that Arthur was alive but afraid that any touch would cause Arthur pain. Eventually, Dutch's hand settled into brushing through Arthur's hair.

"Will he be alright?" Dutch asked.

"I'm worried about the fever," Hosea admitted. "He won't relax, either. Keeps waking up wanting to know if you are safe, muttering about the law until he passes out again. What happened out there, Dutch?"

"Colm set a trap. Overheard it from one of his boys. I think they wanted to draw us all out and turn us over to the law. By the time we arrived at their camp, Arthur was gone."

Any further questions were interrupted when Arthur's breathing hitched and he let out a small groan. Hosea reached over to Arthur's right hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, a motion that he clearly had done several times in the last few hours.

"Dutch?" Arthur muttered.

"I'm here, Arthur," said Dutch.

"No, it's not safe," his son rasped. "It's a trap." Dutch continued to run his hand through Arthur's hair, trying to comfort him. "Colm- the law- it's not safe."

"Arthur, can you open your eyes? You're in camp. Dutch is here," said Hosea, squeezing Arthur's hand again.

Slowly, Arthur's eyes blinked open. The normally clear blue eyes were glassy and bloodshot, and seconds passed while they took in their surroundings. But soon they locked onto Dutch's face. "Dutch?" he asked again, and Dutch felt a smile spread across his face.

"You're going to be just fine, son," he said.

Arthur sighed, leaning his head into Dutch's hand. "It was a trap. Colm-"

"I know, but everyone is safe."

"I got away. I had to…"

"You're safe now, Arthur. Everyone is safe," Dutch said again. Arthur's mouth curled into a small smile, and his eyelids began to droop. Soon enough, Arthur slipped into a deep sleep, and Dutch leaned back into his chair, utterly exhausted.

Hosea briefly disappeared, returning soon with a new chair for himself. As they sat, Dutch began to slouch forward more and more, until Hosea finally said, "You need rest."

"I know," Dutch said, "Just, not yet."

For once, Hosea didn't argue. He wrapped an arm around Dutch's shoulders and pulled the man in to lean on his own. A gentle breeze rolled off the lake, bringing with it the smell of the grass and nearby flowers. Dutch relaxed into Hosea, let his eyes slip shut, and just listened to his son breathe.


End file.
